


The Hell Do I Know About Matt Murdock?

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Bleeding, First Aid, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Lies, Medical, Missing Scene, Secret Identity, Secrets, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy was understandably pissed when he found out that Matt was the guy in the mask. Except he didn't have time to be pissed, since Matt was sort of bleeding out on the floor.</p><p>What happened between the ninth and tenth episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Что я знаю о Мэтте Мердоке?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032360) by [LaVie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVie/pseuds/LaVie)



“Shit,” Foggy breathed. The man hadn't stirred when he poked him with Matt's cane, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Even if he had just collapsed into a bloody mess on the floor.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled 911. It was ringing when the light from the billboard outside flashed across the man's face. And it was familiar.

In what was probably a regrettable move, Foggy hung up and put his phone away, moving closer to the man and kneeling down next to him.

 

The mask came off easily enough to reveal the battered face beneath it.

“ _Matt?”_

 

_Okay Nelson, keep it together. This is your best friend. There's no need to stab him with his own cane again._

Foggy glanced at the offending object in his hand.

_Is it really though?_ The annoying voice in his head asked him.  _Is this really your best friend, blind Matt Murdock who you've known since college, who has been known to fall while taking out the garbage and walk into doors on a regular basis?_

Foggy swallowed hard.

No, this was the man in the mask who had been on television for weeks, being blamed for blowing up buildings and shooting cops and generally being a not good person. Which was nothing like the Matt Foggy knows. Knew.

So maybe Foggy didn't know Matt as well as he thought.

Or maybe there was something else entirely at work here. He was a lawyer after all. He had to remain impartial until all the facts were presented. Matt had always been better at that though.

 

Foggy took a deep breath.

 

Okay, so maybe Matt was the guy in the mask. Maybe he wasn't. This could all just be a set up of some sort. After all, there was no way a blind man could have done all of those things. It just wasn't possible.

It was then that the worst thought hit Foggy right in the gut. What if Matt wasn't really blind? That would be the absolutely best disguise, because no one would ever suspect a blind lawyer of being a vigilante. But that meant Matt had lied to him for so many years, and that their entire friendship was built on a foundation of nothing real.

 

But why would someone go to all that trouble, for so many years? Foggy just couldn't understand it. He was having a hard time understanding any of it.

 

But that wasn't the real problem at the moment. The problem was Matt, bleeding out on the floor of his apartment, possibly the masked vigilante who had killed so many people, or possibly not. But he sure as hell knew what it would look like if he called 911 and the paramedics showed up to this. Even if Matt wasn't the real vigilante, he wouldn't make it out alive, not after the cops got to him.

Which Foggy had said as much to Matt only recently. Oh god.

He hoped that wasn't the way it was going to end.

 

So he had to get Matt changed into something else before calling for help. The wrecked apartment would certainly help with the story of a home invasion, which could have been what happened, but Matt was also soaking wet, which Foggy would be willing to bet hadn't happened in his apartment.

 

But if he changed Matt, then he'd have to replicate the cuts in his clothing to match up with the injuries underneath. Maybe he just could leave him in boxers.

Except, he probably wasn't wearing boxers under those pants.

Foggy squeezed his eyes shut. This was a whole new level of friendship that he wasn't sure he wanted to be on.

 

Foggy sighed and opened his eyes, and settled for poking Matt instead. Maybe he could undress himself.

 

Matt's eyes shot open and he started hyperventilating.

Foggy held his hands back from Matt in case he started to get violent. “Whoa Matty. It's me, Foggy.”

Matt's eyes didn't focus on him, but his breathing eased up slightly. His eyes kept darting around the room, and Foggy wondered again if he really was blind. But then if he wasn't, he probably would have recognized his best friend.

“Foggy?” he breathed.

“Yeah Matty, it's just me. You're pretty hurt. I gotta get you to the hospital, okay?”

Foggy wasn't prepared for the uncoordinated swing that Matt tried to connect with his jaw, but the state Matt was in meant he had plenty of time to avoid it. Frankly, he was surprised Matt had anything left in him to even throw a punch.

“What the hell Matt?” he hissed.

Matt had managed to prop himself up on one arm, and was glaring in the general direction of Foggy.

“No hospitals,” he insisted, before collapsing back onto the ground, breathing heavily and groaning.

Foggy clambered back up onto his knees and scooted over to Matt's side again warily. He really didn't want to be punched.

“Matt, you're bleeding... you're bleeding a lot, okay? I don't know what to do. I don't want you to die here okay? If I can't take you to the hospital, you have to tell me what to do buddy.”

Matt muttered something that Foggy couldn't make out.

He leaned in closer, praying that it wasn't some sort of attempt to get him close enough to kill. “What was that?”

“Claire,” he whispered. “Call her.”

Foggy frowned. He didn't remember a Claire. “Who's that?”

Matt smirked slightly, and Foggy hated him for being able to do that at a time like this. “Hottie McBurner phone.”

Foggy sat back on his heels. That little bastard...

“Where is it?” he growled.

Matt waved a hand in the direction of his kitchen, and Foggy huffed before getting up and searching for it.

It wasn't hard to find, just sitting on the kitchen table. He flipped it open and dialled the single number that was saved in the phone.

It only rang twice before a woman answered.

“What the hell did you do this time?”

Foggy frowned. “Um...”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Who is this?” she asked.

“This is Foggy, Matt's friend. He's... in pretty bad shape, and tried to punch me when I told him to go to the hospital and then he told me to call you and I don't know what else to do and he's bleeding everywhere.” Foggy bit his lip. That was a little embarrassing to sort of blurt everything out in one go but Matt was kind of dying and it was a little bit urgent.

On the other end, Claire sighed. “Where are you?”

“His apartment. Do you know where-”

“I know where it is,” she cut him off. That was all sorts of interesting for Foggy to think about, just not right now. “How bad is he? Do you know what happened? What sorts of injuries does he have?”

“Um... pretty bad I think? I think he's unconscious again. And I don't know what happened. He's all cut up everywhere, and there's blood all over the floor.”

“Are any of the cuts deep?” she demanded, a rummaging noise in the background.

“I don't know,” Foggy admitted. “It's... a lot of blood Claire.”

The noises stopped for a minute. “He told you my name,” she said softly.

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “Okay, I'll be right there. Try to keep him still if he's awake, and put pressure on the worst cuts, if you can. Call me back if anything changes.”

She hung up on him, and Foggy spent a moment just staring at the phone. He was not prepared for this. He was a lawyer, not a doctor or a nurse or a paramedic or anything else that knew how to handle these sort of situations. Hell, even a boy scout would probably be better at this than him.

 

But Matt needed him, needed his best friend right now, and so Foggy had to put aside his fears or feelings and just help him.

He took a second to flick a light on and grab some of Matt's old t-shirts from a drawer and got to work.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't long before Claire arrived, the knock at the door startling Foggy slightly. He'd been pressing fabric to Matt's wounds and watching as they slowly became saturated with blood. The one gash on his stomach seemed the worst, and it was where Foggy had focused his attention. He was relieved that help had finally arrived, because he worried after each shallow gasp that it would be Matt's last, and he could not deal with that, he just couldn't.

 

Claire was hot, of course, which Foggy barely noticed as she pushed past him on her way into the apartment. She was carrying a large bag over her shoulder, and made her way into the living room like she owned the place.

“Jesus,” she breathed, spotting Matt for the first time on the ground. “You weren't lying to me.”

Foggy only trailed behind her and sort of shrugged.

“What the fuck Matt,” she whispered, kneeling down next to him, gloves already on her hands. She pressed two fingers to his neck and felt for a pulse.

“You can fix him, right?” Foggy asked. God, he wished he wasn't so useless.

Claire glanced up at him. “Sorry, what's your name?”

“Foggy. I'm his best friend.”

“Foggy. Okay. I'm going to do my best, and he's kind of a stubborn idiot, so while I'm not going to make any promises, it will be my very best.” She yanked her bag to her side and undid the large zipper, revealing a fully stocked medical kit. Foggy didn't recognize most of the things inside.

“Okay, I need you to cut his clothes off so I can see his injuries. Can you do that?” She passed Foggy a pair of scissors that she pulled from her bag, heavy duty with rounded tips.

“Yeah, of course.”

Foggy began cutting carefully, because he was still a bit drunk, no matter how much he'd sobered up by the shock. He'd gotten his shirt off by the time Claire had begun to get up an IV line in Matt's hand. At least, Foggy was pretty sure that's what it was.

He moved onto the pants with more hesitation as Claire did whatever people do with IVs, and he'd just realized that yes, Matt was wearing underwear, by the time Claire had finished taping something to Matt's hand.

Foggy wondered if Claire had already seen Matt naked. It probably wasn't an appropriate thing to ask her though.

“What should I do now?” Foggy asked. He'd sort of collapsed backwards onto his butt, nearly running into a chair in the process.

Claire looked at him for a second before returning her attention to tubing or something. Foggy really had no clue.

“Are you drunk?”

“A little bit,” he defends. “Someone just died.”

“Mhm, define a little bit.”

“Maybe more than a little bit,” Foggy admitted.

Claire hummed. “Thought so. Here, I'm going to need you to stand up and hold this.”

She handed him a bag filled with fluid. It was connected to tubing that went to Matt's arm and entered somewhere under the skin. Probably.

“Yeah, okay,” Foggy agreed. It was probably a very important job, and that's why she was entrusting it to him.

He got to his feet and stood stoically.

“So how did you two meet?” Foggy asked conversationally. There's not much more he can do while acting as a human IV pole. He would think it beneath him if he was capable of more than simply standing upright.

Claire glanced up at him. “I'm not sure we should talk about it. How much has he told you?”

“Nothing,” Foggy replied, a split second before realizing that was definitely the wrong answer if he wanted to get more information. “Well, you know-”

“We shouldn't talk about it then,” she continues, ignoring Foggy's attempt to speak completely. “Did you find him like this?”

Foggy shook his head. “He stumbled in. I threatened him with his cane. He sort of fell over. I poked him. He didn't move. I took his mask off. I called you after he tried to punch me.”

Claire snorted. “Nice. He didn't try to punch me the first time we met, but he sure as hell tried to leave.” She shook her head. “There was no way he was going anywhere in the state he was in. Here, I need you to help me roll him so I can check his back.”

“What do I do with this?” Foggy asked, pointing to the bag in his hand.

“You can set it down for a minute. Here, grab his shoulder and hip. We'll roll him on my count, okay?”

Foggy nodded. With Claire's directions, they rolled Matt onto his side, and Claire quickly checked over his back. “Nothing major,” she determined. “Okay, we can roll him back now. Gently. There you go. You can go back to holding that now,” she instructed him.

Foggy obeyed, and Claire switched to Matt's other side, probing at the deepest wound in his side.

“Jesus Matt,” she muttered. “It looks like someone tried to gut you. And they almost succeeded,” she added.

The next thing she grabbed from her kit was sewing supplies. So probably not exactly sewing supplies, but for doing stitches. She also doused most of Matt's body with some sort of cleaner that smelled awful. Matt had always been sensitive to smells. He would hate it when he woke up.

“So is he... you know. The guy in the mask? This isn't some sort of setup or something?” Foggy knew he was grasping at straws here, but he had to.

Claire smiled a little at him. “No, this is real. This is what he does, apparently. Makes life difficult for bad people.”

“Did he blow those buildings up? Kill those people?” Foggy whispered. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He wasn't sure he could stay if the answer went a certain way.

Claire paused in her suturing for a moment to look up at him kindly. “He told me that he didn't, and I believe him. He told me that he was framed, and I believe it. You have to understand that he's only trying to do what's right. He may not be very good at it, or going about it the right way, but he's trying.”

Foggy thought back to the philosophy class he'd taken as an elective. Major mistake, maybe the biggest one since Punjabi, but some of it had stuck with him. Like morality. What really mattered, the intention or the outcome?

He and Matt had never agreed on that.

 

Foggy watched as Claire threaded Matt's skin back together. The large wound in the abdomen took two layers, one deeper than the other. She covered it with a large gauze pad before moving onto the smaller ones.

“Jesus,” she whispered more than once, every time she discovered yet another cut that was still bleeding sluggishly. Foggy felt kind of sick when he realized the amount of blood that was on the floor. Matt's blood.

He glanced at the bag of fluids in his hand and wondered if it was making a difference at all.

 

He noticed a few things as Claire went on. She murmured to Matt almost constantly, nothing that Foggy could make out, but it sounded reassuring.

“Why are you talking to him?” he asked.

“In case he can hear. I don't want him to worry.”

It made sense, but it was nothing Foggy would have considered. Other than asking Matt's unconscious body for help, he hadn't spoken to him much.

Additionally, Claire injected something into only a few of the wounds, including the large one on Matt's stomach.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Local anaesthetic,” she replied. “I don't have enough for all of them, so I'm using it on the ones that are going to hurt the most when he wakes up.”

Foggy hummed in understanding. “Are you going to stitch all of them?”

Claire took a moment to examine some of the smaller cuts. “No, not all of them. The ones on his arms here are superficial, and don't need stitches. They should heal up fine on their own.”

“Do you do this a lot for him?”

Claire grimaced, and finished a final stitch before responding. “Honestly, more than I would like. He needs to get himself body armour or something. Fabric really isn't protective, and he has a habit of getting beat up, badly.”

Foggy thought back to all the times Matt had claimed to have fallen, or walked into something. Once he'd even tried to write off his injuries as BDSM. Foggy wasn't convinced.

Everything made so much more sense now, and he hated it.

God, Matt had been lying to him for so long. How much of their relationship was real? How much of their friendship had been lies?

“Is he even blind?” Foggy asked quietly. Claire was packing up her kit, all of Matt's wounds stitched up.

Claire looked at him. “Yes,” she said softly. “He is blind. I learned that right away. His pupils don't react to light. At first I thought he had a severe head injury, but when he woke up and was lucid, I realized it was the blindness.” She placed a hand on his arm. “He hasn't lied to you about that Foggy.”

“Then how does he do all this?” he asked desperately.

“That's something you're going to have to ask him.”

She gestured for him to pass her the bag that was now almost empty.

“I've got one more bag of fluids that he can have. After it's done, just pull the cannula out of his hand and bandage it.” She locked eyes with him. “Got it?”

Foggy frowned. “I think so.”

“You'll be fine,” she assured him. “Now, let's move him somewhere more comfortable. Bed or couch?”

Foggy glanced between them. “Couch is closer.”

“That it is. You get his head, I'll get his legs. Just set the IV bag on him for a minute. And be careful not to pull on the line. And now lift with your knees.”

Foggy might have grunted a little when they lifted Matt up, but only because he was heavier than expected. The guy had clearly been working out, which was evident by the muscles Foggy had seen after cutting his clothes off.

“There you go,” Claire murmured, adjusting Matt's limbs so he looked more comfortable. “Do you want to grab him a blanket?”

Foggy nodded, and headed to the bedroom. He grabbed the softest blanket he could find, and carefully draped it over Matt's body.

Claire examined him once more, checking his pulse and all of his wounds.

“I have to go,” she said reluctantly. “I work in two hours.”

Foggy checked his watch. The sun would be coming up shortly. He knew that he wouldn't be going into the office that day. Neither would Matt, of course.

“I can handle it,” Foggy said, surprising himself.

Claire grabbed her bag, which had been packed up again, minus about a hundred feet of thread and whatever else she'd used.

“If something happens, call me,” she said quietly. She didn't look at Foggy as she said it, her gaze focused on Matt. “And when he wakes up, get him to drink. And for god's sake, don't let him move around. He's stupid like that.”

She moved closer to him, and hesitated before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You take care,” she said, and Foggy wasn't sure who it was directed at.

“Thank you,” he added as she was leaving. “For everything.”

Claire smiled at him. “Yeah, I know.”

The door closed behind her, and Foggy collapsed into an armchair. The floor was still bloody, there were plastic wrappers from medical supplies everywhere, and there was dirty clothing tossed haphazardly, but he didn't have the energy or stomach to clean it right now.

Instead he made sure the blanket was covering all of Matt's bare chest, and pushed his hair out of his face.

“She's hot,” he noted. “Of course,” he sighed.

Matt's steady breathing was the only response.

Foggy settled in for a long wait.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt slept for most of the morning. Foggy dozed on and off, but the light streaming through the windows made it hard to stay asleep.

When the fluids ran out, he removed the tube from Matt's hand just like Claire had told him to. He panicked for a bit, because it bled, but then he remembered it had been in Matt's vein, of course it was bleeding.

Still, he used two bandaids to cover it.

 

He was so pale. Matt was normally pale, they both were, Irish heritage and all, but in contrast with the red of the wounds and bruises, Matt looked nearly colourless. Which made sense. It seemed like half of his blood was on the floor, but even Foggy knew that a person couldn't survive without half their blood. Surely not in an apartment anyway. A hospital maybe.

It just looked like so much. There was so much of it, and it wasn't in Matt's body where it was supposed to be.

Foggy felt sick. In an attempt to distract himself, he splashed his face with water in the kitchen sink before wandering around the apartment again. He still didn't understand why things were broken. Had someone broken in and hurt Matt, damaging furniture in the process? But some of it looked cleaned up already, and there was no way Matt could have done housekeeping in the state he was in. Plus, Foggy was pretty sure he wouldn't wear that costume just around the house.

So something else had happened, before whatever caused Matty to get so hurt.

He probably didn't want to know what that was either.

 

Around noon, Matt began to stir, and Foggy headed for the kitchen to get a beer. He needed it if he was going to survive the coming conversation.

 

Foggy watched from the kitchen as Matt opened his eyes and gasped at the pain. He saw as Matt tugged the blanket down off his chest and removed the large bandage to get at the wound on his side. Jesus, was that even sanitary? Claire was not going to be happy if she had to come back and fix him up from an infection.

He muttered something at one point, and Foggy wasn't going to jump to conclusions, but he was fairly certain that Matt said something that his priest wouldn't be happy about. Did Matt have a preacher? A priest? That showed how much Foggy knew.

But then, that was sort of the point.

Matt kept stirring on the couch, and Foggy wondered if he knew that he was there.

“Wouldn't do that if I were you,” he warned, just as Matt was about to try and pull himself to a sitting position. “Then again, maybe I would. The hell do I know about Matt Murdock?”

 


End file.
